Six Foot Two
by Joyful-Sound
Summary: All the movies said that these next few years would be the best of her life – that she would meet her best friends, do things she'd have to apologize for in the morning but never actually regret, and even fall in love. Really, it was a lot of pressure to put on a newly turned teenager. Nobody ever told Jess how drastically those perceptions can change.


**I am posting this at 2 AM, beta-free and written in about four hours, because if I don't, I will definitely chicken out and this will sit and decay in my documents forever. Feel free to leave behind anything constructive or otherwise needs to be fixed. I would be very grateful. **

**Based on the lovely song by Marie Miller called "6-2." I can't listen to this song without thinking about Jess's journey right to Nick. I'm waiting for a fan video to it. If you read this, I do encourage you to give it a listen and read again. I think the song adds to this one. And, oh my gosh, how about that post-Super Bowl episode?**

**(insert witty "don't own song or show" disclaimer here)**

* * *

><p><em>Lord, I've been praying<br>For somebody I've never seen  
>And I don't care what he looks like<br>As long as he loves me  
><em>

* * *

><p>She remembered watching the clock on her nightstand click down to midnight, her heart sending a dreadful pounding into her throat. For hours, she had tossed and turned in the moonlight, her dark curls tangling themselves further and further into their rubber band. Even the threat of her sister, in all of her skinny, straight-haired glory, teasing "bedhead Jess" all day couldn't get her to settle into sleep.<p>

"Thirteen is a _big_ number," the lady from her mom's support group had said. "There's middle school, and dances, and… _boys_."

The woman had drawn out the very last word, casting a sly look towards Joan, as if Jess didn't know that this conversation would inevitably lead to her parent's recent marital issues; a conversation that she'd surely "understand when she's older," as if the difference between twelve and thirteen meant a different perception of the word _divorce_.

But it didn't. Not really.

When the numbers on her clock blinked back "12:00," unceremoniously welcoming her into her teenage years, she couldn't help but stare curiously back at them.

All the movies said that these next few years would be the best of her life – that she would meet her best friends, do things she'd have to apologize for in the morning but never actually regret, and even _fall in love_. Really, it was a lot of pressure to put on a newly turned teenager.

She could only hope that, no matter what, one of those faceless people would truly _love_ her.

* * *

><p><em>No, I'm not particular…<em>

_But could he have blue eyes  
>Just like the sky<br>And long hair  
>Wavy and light<br>And 6 foot 2 is my favorite height  
>But Lord I don't care what he looks like<em>

* * *

><p>"He's got to be tall," Cece had proclaimed during their very first sleepover, mulling over pictures of scraggly-haired celebrities (and potential boyfriend material) next to her best friend.<p>

"How tall?" Jess asked. She craned her neck over Cece's shoulder to get a better look at the options.

Cece sighed, blowing a few of her carefully straightened bangs out of her face. "Like… over six feet. Maybe six foot two."

"Six feet," Jess said, "like Kyle Atkins?"

Cece wrinkled her nose and Jess giggled. Kyle Atkins was the tallest kid in the eighth grade, and he had at least a full foot on Cece.

"Not like _him_," Cece affirmed, as if it needed repeating. She then tugged her friend closer to her. She ran her index finger over the glossy pages of her magazine, like she could just jump into the page and insert herself into whatever scene played out. "Like _them_."

Jess peered closer at the glossy pages of the magazine. Maybe it was the glare of Cece's bedroom light, or the way their profiles reflected up from the page, but Jess couldn't recognize a single face in the pictures. Jess even tried to put herself into the picture, arm-in-arm and looking into each face the same way Cece was staring at their pictures.

Sure, they weren't hard on the eyes. Not at all.

"But why does it matter that they're _tall_?"

Cece stretched her arms out dramatically. "Because _I'm_ supposed to be tall. My mom said I could be six feet tall. _Six feet_!" She shook her head. "And _everyone_ wants a boy that has to bend down to kiss her!"

This was news to Jess, who was not very well versed in the science of kissing a boy. "But wouldn't it just be easier if you were the _same_ height?"

But Cece only gave her that look, the look that told Jess that she was way out of her league with this conversation. The _'you'll understand someday'_ look. Who was she kidding? Cece usually got the good offers to the formal dances. Jess figured that trusting her logic this time around couldn't hurt.

So, six-foot-two it was.

* * *

><p><em>I've been getting so lonesome<br>Waiting for him to come around  
>But if you're teaching me patience<br>I'm willing to work this all out_

* * *

><p>The night after her senior prom was probably her loneliest.<p>

She had hours ago abandoned her itchy, tulle-draped cage in favor of her favorite pajama set, packed carefully into her purse so she could have stayed out all night if she had wanted to. She crossed her arms over her chest, padding quietly across the empty room.

The window had drops of condensation gathering at the bottom, skewing the view of the city lights below. It was begging her to look up, to take in the wide expanse of the sky and, for once, try to see beyond her life in Portland. Like if she just got in her car and started _driving_ somewhere… _anywhere_... she could reach a part of herself that had always wanted to be let go.

But it was like her mind reached an invisible barrier on the outskirts of the city, unable to explore beyond its constricting walls. She had chosen to stay within the comfort of her familiar city for college, so perhaps this was just a side effect of that choice.

Cece, on the other hand, would be off the California in the fall, chasing a dream that Jess wasn't even brave enough to _think_ about.

"You have to bet that California guys are just so much… _different_," Cece had said with an expectant smile.

And Jess couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to watch her best friend find _that guy_ from so far away. It would be like watching a movie play out, except over long distance phone calls and the occasional visit. He'd probably be another model; one that glossed the pages of the very magazines that they had fawned over as kids.

Jess would surely be star struck by his good looks.

And, of course, he would be the ever-elusive six-foot-two.

* * *

><p><em>But could we meet by<br>The first of July  
>So he'll hold my hand<br>As they light up the sky  
>And marry me on an April night<br>But lord take your sweet, sweet time_

* * *

><p>And then there was Spencer.<p>

Sweet, simple, _Spencer_.

She had waited so long for someone like him to come along. His image was like a blurry shot of one of those old magazine cutouts – fitting the description from afar, but carving out into more interesting details as she got closer. He liked cute, fuzzy animals, and he never made fun of her singing. Sometimes, he even sang along with a lazy smile playing at his lips.

When he leaned in to kiss her, he'd had to bend down, just like Cece had described all those years ago. And even though Jess knew that he wasn't _exactly_ six feet, two inches tall…. it was close enough for her.

"You're the California guy my parents warned me about," she had once told him, unapologetic. He seemed to be okay with that. At least, if he had a problem with it, he had never made that feeling known to Jess.

Jess always wondered if this image of him was what caused her to look past everything else – how he had used her, and how she had seen him through the rose colored lenses of words like _marriage_ and _future_; how he had taken her trust and shaken it to the very core, making her question everything else.

Was this vision that she had really that far out of reach?

She wasn't even sure if her heartbreak over him was really over _him _or over the idea that she had held so close to her heart for such a long time.

Whatever it was… Well, it sucked.

* * *

><p><em>Whatever You want<br>Is whatever I want  
>I'm not particular<em>

_So, if he has green eyes, that would be fine  
>Or brown hair,<br>that's quite alright_  
><em>Now, 6 foot 2 is my favorite height<em>  
><em>But, Lord, I don't care<em>

* * *

><p><em>He<em> was nothing like the man she had always pictured, which is why, at first, she felt drawn straight into that dark brown stare. He had a natural kind of smile – the kind that couldn't be faked, and each one had to be _earned_. He didn't sugar coat things, and he had absolutely no problem telling her that her presence in the loft was _not_ his idea. But he did like to smile at her.

So, of course, she ran from that. Her first instincts had been wrong all along, and she was not about to trust any lingering feelings from those bright ideas of her past. She tried to forget, and it worked, save for the time that Cece decided to bring it up.

Nevertheless, she took care of it. Jess took a step back from Spencer and launched herself headfirst into whatever the world had to offer. She wiggled her way into the game of Life, running right into the oddly familiar arms of guys like Paul and Sam, taking chances, only to realize that it would take her a long time to fall that hard again.

And then… _he_ kissed her.

She had felt so complete, wholly wrapped up in his arms while his lips moved hastily against hers. His heart had pounded against her own, their rhythms forming together while their hands begged to explore, pulling away all too soon.

And it was like her whole world shifted underneath her feet, drawing out new foundations… rewriting every rule that she had once felt so _sure_ about.

* * *

><p><em>And could we meet by<br>The first of July  
>So he'll hold my hand<br>As they light up the sky  
>And marry me, oh, marry me<br>Marry me on an April night  
><em>

* * *

><p>She had screamed "I love you" that night.<p>

There had been a lot of people around. Maybe everyone had heard her. Maybe nobody but Nick had heard her. It didn't really matter, at this point, as long as Nick knew. As long as she had someone to assure her that it was real.

The door to her room creaked open. She watched the figure walk across the room in the moonlight, his damp feet leaving behind a glistening path on the floor. His eyes met hers for a brief moment. Even in the darkness, the smile was lighting up his face.

She pulled back the sheets for him, and he crawled in beside her. His body was still warm from the shower, smelling of soap and aftershave and all the things that she had grown to love about him. She sometimes wondered if he thought the same things of her shampoo and wide variety of perfumes. She strongly suspected that he'd tried out her raspberry body wash a time or two.

Instinctively, Jess curled into his warmth. Their relationship had never been defined by the amount of time they spent cuddling, but Jess had recently found that the curve of his neck was the perfect place to wedge her head. In response, his hand came up to her hair, twirling stray curls around his finger. Her hand came to rest right over his heart.

"You know," Jess whispered, feeling her breath hot against his skin, "I don't think that there's a single part of our relationship that I could've predicted."

Nick's laugh reverberated somewhere deep inside his chest. "You have a way of making me forget how _normal_ relationships are supposed to work."

His hand moved from her hair down to her back and spread his fingers across the flannel, pulling her closer. She stretched her legs as far as they would go, her toes barely grazing against his ankles.

He was just the right height to hold her against him. Not the skewed six-foot-two right, but rather, _Nick and Jess_ right.

"Oh, well," she yawned. "It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't?" He said.

"Nope," she shook her head, "because I love you."

She could feel his heart pick up underneath her fingertips. His lips brushed gently across her forehead. He took a slow, measured breath.

"Well, that's good," he mumbled into her skin as the darkness started falling across her vision, "because I love you, too."

And if that wasn't what _right_ was supposed to feel like, Jess decided that the word was in need of some drastic redefinition.

* * *

><p><em>But Lord take your sweet, sweet time<br>And Lord I don't care what he looks like._


End file.
